Dear Slayer
by ElsaF
Summary: There was a time when correspondence was an art.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Dear Slayer 1/4  
Author: Elsa Frohman, elsa@frohman.net  
Feedback: Yes, thank you  
Spoilers: End of S6 and beginning of S7 speculation   
(nothing solid)  
Disclaimer: This fan fic should not be read while   
operating heavy machinery  
Summary: There was a time when correspondence was an   
art.  
  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
I saw you on the street tonight, and I know you saw   
me as well, so I guess it's time to get this over   
with.  
  
You're probably scrambling around now getting a   
disinvite spell set up on your house and floodlights   
set up in your yard. But there's no need. I have no   
intention of standing outside your house watching   
you, and even less of trying to get inside.  
  
If I ever had any right to approach you, I forfeited   
it the last time we saw one another. So I will not   
be troubling you.  
  
You may wonder why I came back to Sunnydale at all.   
Well, I'm not sure of the answer to that myself.   
When I finished with what I left to do, it only   
seemed natural to go home. I just wasn't sure where   
home was -- London? Europe? Neither seemed to call   
to me, so in the end I came back here.  
  
But let me repeat that it was not so I could   
continue to pursue you. That's over with and done.   
  
I won't tell you that I no longer care. But I doubt   
I could ever make up for what I tried to do to you,   
so I will stay away.  
  
Once I thought I loved you for the darkness in you.   
I thought what you needed me to help you embrace   
that darkness. But when I finally came to look at   
what happened between us honestly, I came to know   
that what called to me was the light, not the dark   
at all. And somehow, I believed -- in the part of my   
heart I could not acknowledge directly -- that you   
would somehow find and the light in me and nurture   
it.  
  
That's not what happened. Instead, we only hurt one   
another. I know I hurt you and I condemn myself for   
it.  
  
But I also know that you hurt me. I'm not blaming   
you. You were lost and damaged, and I was anything   
but the guide you needed to find your way back to   
what you once were. So even though I assign no   
blame, I have to acknowledge that being with you did   
me no good. Not only were you bad to me, you were   
bad for me. And I know now that if I'm going to be   
any use to anyone in this world I have to protect   
myself.  
  
So I've accepted that you and I can never be   
together again.  
  
I hope the Nibblet is doing well. All that has   
happened can't have been easy on her. I suppose   
she's going to spot me sooner or later. So I hope   
you'll find some way to explain why I haven't   
contacted her. The last thing I want is to cause her   
more pain.  
  
Yours truly  
S  
  
--------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
You're right. Dawn spotted you, in fact, she's the   
one who figured out where you're living so I could   
address this letter. I let her read yours. It seemed   
like the best way to explain why you wouldn't be   
coming around.  
  
I have to congratulate you on moving up -- an   
apartment rather than a crypt -- even if it is a   
basement. Very good. Must be nice to have running   
water and electrical outlets.  
  
It seems strange writing to you rather than coming   
over to talk. But then, we never did very well with   
the talking, did we? It's probably better to do it   
this way.  
  
I'm sorry. Very sorry -- for everything. And it   
isn't "patronizing sorry," or "oh, real for you not   
for me sorry," or "will you please go away if I just   
say I'm sorry, sorry."   
  
I'm sorry that I was so wrapped up in my own pain   
that I never saw how I was hurting you. What   
happened -- I so know that it wasn't you. Well, OK,   
it was you, but I know you would never have done   
anything like that if I hadn't destroyed every bit   
of hope you ever had. If I hadn't ignored every good   
thing you ever did and focused on every misstep. If   
I hadn't said "no" when I meant "yes" again and   
again. If I hadn't used you and discarded you   
without a thought for what you must have been   
feeling.  
  
If I hadn't been so blind, I might have seen how   
hard you were trying to be a better man. I might   
have encouraged you rather than beating you down.  
  
But I didn't, and I'm afraid it's too late for   
regrets. The time for all that is past.  
  
However, I'm in the uncomfortable position now of   
having to ask you for a favor -- despite everything   
that has happened. I understand and respect your   
decision to stay away from me. I really don't blame   
you. If I were in your place I would want nothing to   
do with me, either.  
  
So, I hope you can find it in your heart to indulge   
me, not for my sake, but for Dawn's.  
  
She has lost so much. More than any child her age   
should have to bear. In the past two years, she lost   
her mother. Then I left her to sacrifice myself.   
Even when I returned I had nothing to give her. Now   
she has lost her surrogate mothers as well. Tara's   
senseless death hit her hard, and what happened with   
Willow afterward was even worse.  
  
She is doing better now, and I'm doing my best to be   
there for her. But it would still mean a great deal   
to her if you would allow her to come visit with   
you. I promise I will stay away and not interfere.   
She still loves you, and it is so unfair that my   
failure of humanity should deprive her of a friend   
who means so much to her.  
  
I know it's a lot to ask, considering our history.   
But if you could do this one thing, I would be   
forever grateful.  
  
Thanks,  
B.  
  
PS: I know this sounds incredibly shallow, but you   
have beautiful handwriting! I feel like I've been   
putting chicken scratches on this page after looking   
at yours again.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
I would be more than happy to see Dawn. She knows   
where I live. If she wants to drop by after school,   
that would be fine. Or if you'd prefer, I could meet   
her in a public place.  
  
Unlike you, it does not seem strange to me to be   
writing to you this way. I grew up in an age when   
correspondence was an art. More like dropping into   
an old habit for me.  
  
I hope my previous missive didn't distress you too   
much. I didn't mean to try to place any   
responsibility on you. The responsibility was always   
mine. I should have seen how wrong things had become   
and walked away. I can only blame myself for   
continuing to accept all you dished out. Please,   
let's not keep beating a dead horse. What's past is   
past. We can't take any of it back. Time to move on.  
  
Meanwhile, if Dawn wants to meet me at the ice cream   
shop on Main Street on Wednesday evening, I'll be   
there.  
  
Regards,  
S.  
  
PS: About the handwriting -- they used to teach   
penmanship when I was in school. Got my knuckles   
rapped if my loops weren't round enough.   
  
-----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Thank you so much for the fertility god statuettes.   
I've put them on the bookcase in the living room.   
African artwork -- for some reason, they make me   
think of my mother. She was always bringing home   
things like this from the gallery.  
  
Dawn said you were looking good. I'm glad to hear   
it.  
  
By the way, I have your leather duster. You left it   
here that day. I could have Dawn bring it to you   
next time you see her, if you like.  
  
I can't tell you how much I appreciate your taking   
time to spend with Dawn. It means a lot to her --   
and to me.  
  
Thanks  
B.  
  
--------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I'm glad we could work something out with Dawn. It   
means a lot to me, as well.   
  
I'm happy to see she's doing better in school this   
term. She's a bright girl. Have you given any   
thought beyond high school? Now is the time to start   
planning for college. I know she's only a sophomore,   
but it's never too early.  
  
Don't worry about the duster. Do whatever you want   
with it. Doesn't really suit my style these days.  
  
I hope the slayage hasn't been too strenuous. It   
must be difficult for you to have to work full-time   
in the day, and fight vampires at night. As far as   
I've been able to see since I've been back, things   
are pretty quiet. I did notice there was a pack of   
vamps setting up in my old crypt. Just thought I'd   
let you know about that in case you wanted to drop   
by and clean them out. No big deal. They look pretty   
pathetic if you ask me. You can probably take them   
out with out working up a sweat.  
  
Not that it matters, mind you. I don't have any   
designs on the crypt these days. Much more   
comfortable in my flat -- even if I do have to pay   
rent.  
  
Warmest regards,  
S.  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I know we've agreed to stay out of one another's   
hair, but I wonder if it would be too much to ask   
for a little suspension of that rule.  
  
It's Dawn's birthday next Friday. I'm inviting Clem,   
Sophie, Dawn's friend Janice, Jonathan and Xander. I   
know Dawn would be really pleased if you'd come as   
well. If you would prefer not, I'll understand.   
Particularly since Xander is going to be here. But   
I've let him know that this is Dawn's day, and I'm   
going to take it very hard if he messes it up for   
her. He said he would put aside old grievances for   
Dawn's sake.  
  
The party starts at 6 p.m. Let me know if you're   
coming.   
  
While I'm at it, thanks for the tip on the vamps in   
your old crypt. You were right -- they were   
pathetic. I could have sent Jonathan after them.   
They just don't make vampires like they used to.  
  
Yours truly,  
B.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Thanks for the invite. What sort of present would   
Dawn like?  
  
Just don't seat me next to Harris.  
  
Sorry for the short note. I'm late for work. Must   
dash.  
  
Sincerely,  
S.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Work?  
  
Regards,  
B.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Yeah, work. Gotta pay the rent. I'm doing the   
midnight shift at the morgue. Not much to do. The   
clients aren't very talkative. Just sit there and   
make sure the customers don't try to leave. Take a   
few deliveries. The ambience is familiar, the job   
seems to suit me.   
  
Saw a nice cashmere sweater at the mall. What size   
for Dawn?  
  
If you're at loose ends, pet, you might check out   
the warehouse on Sands Street. Looks to me like   
something's going on in there.  
  
See you Friday,  
S.  
  
---------  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
I guess you're not too thrilled with me now. I'm   
sorry. I shouldn't have let Harris get to me. I   
suppose I still need to work on keeping control of my   
temper.  
  
I'd go try to apologize to Harris, but I don't think   
he'd be too happy to see me.  
  
I'm sorry to have ruined Dawn's party.   
  
Really sorry,  
S.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I am so not blaming you for the Xander incident. He   
was in the bag before he got here. Staggering.  
  
I went and talked to him this morning. Ripped him a   
new one, actually. He's feeling pretty sorry   
himself. He realizes it was his fault.  
  
I know you don't want to hear me defend Xander, but   
he had reason to be off his game. He got a letter   
from Giles and Anya earlier in the day. That still   
hurts him -- a lot. So by the time he got to the   
party he was pretty well pissed -- in all senses of   
the word.  
  
I blame myself for not getting him out of there when   
he started in on you. All that snarky "dead thing"   
and "soulless demon" stuff. I should never have let   
it go on. I don't know why I didn't shut him down. I   
feel pretty bad about that. I need to be more   
proactive about things like this. Just because   
Xander is my friend doesn't mean I agree with what   
he says. I should have let him know right then that   
he was out of line.   
  
And you showed considerable restraint. You only hit   
him once -- and that after he'd swung at you and   
missed -- three times.   
  
Dawn was pretty upset, but she's not blaming you   
either. She's pretty mad at him.   
  
Xander is feeling very low at the moment. More than   
low -- he's pretty much in full-grovel mode. Dawn   
will probably forgive him -- in a couple weeks. It   
may take longer for me.  
  
Look, can we make it up to you? Why don't you come   
over Tuesday. We can have dinner -- just the three   
of us. No Xander. I promise. I'll even have some   
pig's blood for you. And after, there's a creature   
feature marathon on Sci-Fi.   
  
Sincerely,  
B.  
  
-------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I don't know if that's such a good idea.   
  
But I am glad to know you aren't going to hold   
Xander's broken nose against me. Now there's an   
image I could have done without.  
  
Seeing you again brought back a lot of memories. If   
you don't mind, I think I'd like to back off a   
little now.  
  
But let's not let this affect the Little Bit. Please   
let her know she's still welcome to drop by any   
time.  
  
Respectfully,  
S.  
  
PS: There's something stirring at Sunny Rest   
Cemetery. Not sure what -- doesn't look like the run   
of the mill vamp nest to me. Please be careful.  
  
-------------   
  
Dear Spike;  
  
You were right about Sunny Rest. We're not sure what   
it is either. Jonathan is doing some research. We're   
taking a wait-and-see approach for now. Whatever it   
is, it doesn't seem to be fully emerged yet. We want   
to know just what we're dealing with before we go in   
stakes blazing.  
  
By the way, were you planning on going to Dawn's   
play Friday? I've been happy to see her getting   
involved in the Drama Club. And I'm so proud of her   
landing a principal role in Midsummer's Night Dream.   
My little sister -- Titania!  
  
So, I was really bummed when the OT shift at work   
came up. I so can't afford to turn down OT right   
now. It would be sad for Dawn if there was nobody   
for her in the audience when she makes her   
triumphant debut. And Jonathan just wouldn't be the   
same.  
  
Finally, I guess I understand about the backing off   
thing. (Left it to last -- not being avoidy or   
anything am I?) Whatever. I'll stay out of your   
hair. (Speaking of which, have I mentioned that I   
like the new look?)  
  
Regards,  
B.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I wish you could have seen Dawn tonight. She was   
brilliant. And so beautiful in her fairy queen   
costume. There has never been so perfect a Titania.   
And she didn't miss her marks or flub her lines even   
once. She glowed -- positively glowed.   
  
The girl is destined for the stage, I tell you.  
  
By the way, you might suggest that Jonathan check   
out "Gaeus Antimony's Chronicles." Just a thought.   
Something about that thing at Sunny Rest reminds me   
of it. Can't quite put my finger on what.  
  
Hope the extra shift wasn't too tiring.  
  
Sincerely,  
S.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Thanks for being there for Dawn. It means a lot.  
  
You were right about the Chronicles, by the way.   
Jonathan says thanks. We're going to go in and try   
to deal with it tonight. Can't wait any longer. It's   
getting stronger. Gotta take care of it while we   
still can. At least, I hope we still can.  
  
If anything happens to me, I know you'll continue to   
look after Dawn.  
  
Love;  
B.  
  
----------  
  
Spike;  
  
You miserable bastard. Now I see it. The lies. It's   
all starting again.  
  
I suppose this seems a bit ungrateful after last   
night. I probably wouldn't have made it if you   
hadn't showed up to watch my back. I am grateful for   
that, no matter what it seems like.  
  
But dammit! Why didn't you tell me? Why did you hide   
it? How can I trust you when you keep this sort of   
secret?  
  
Did you think I wouldn't notice? When you knocked me   
down to keep that thing from taking my head off, I   
felt it.   
  
Why did you keep it from me? When did this happen?  
  
B.  
  
---------  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
I suppose pointing out that not telling everything   
is not quite the same thing as lying isn't going to   
help now.  
  
No, I didn't tell you. Dawn knows, but I asked her   
not to tell either. She noticed right away after we   
started seeing each other. She doesn't miss much.  
  
Where do I start?   
  
I didn't want you to know because I don't really   
understand what happened myself. I'm still not sure   
what it means.   
  
It happened last spring when I went to Africa. It   
wasn't what I thought I was bargaining for. Odd how   
things turn out, innit?  
  
Giles and Anya know about it. I went and stayed with   
them for a while after it happened. But in the end,   
I could see I was getting in their way. They've just   
got a small flat in Bath, and there isn't room for a   
permanent houseguest. I asked them not to mention it   
if they talked to you.  
  
Giles helped me get the necessary documents so I   
could fly back here. Can't really travel by cargo   
container anymore.  
  
Giles has been researching what's happened to me,   
but he hasn't found anything particularly useful so   
far. It doesn't seem to have happened before. At   
least, he hasn't found any record of it happening   
before.  
  
At first, the heartbeat was driving me insane. It   
just goes on and on -- thump, thump, thump. I know I   
had one before I was turned, but I had completely   
forgotten what it feels like. Kept me awake. But I   
got used to it.   
  
I still seem to have a great deal -- if not all --   
of my previous vampiric strength. I can still handle   
myself in a fight (as I'm sure you saw last night).   
When I cut myself, it heals quickly -- so I think I   
still have accelerated healing -- but I haven't   
sustained any serious wounds to test that theory.   
  
I need to breathe now, and eat. And I can go out in   
the sun, though I sunburn so easily that I haven't   
been taking too much advantage of that, yet. I've   
been going of for short periods -- wearing sunscreen   
-- SPF 30. I hope to get to the point where I can go   
to the beach someday. But I'm not there, yet.   
  
I'm not sure what I am now. I didn't want to tell   
you until I'd figured that out.  
  
I'm sorry you had to find out that way, rather than   
having me tell you myself.  
  
Sincerely,  
S.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I'm sorry I freaked. It was just such a shock. I   
really wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me about   
it. Jonathan is looking into it, but he's of the   
same opinion as Giles (who I called and talked to   
this morning). Nobody seems to have heard of   
anything like this before.  
  
By the way, Dawn asked me to tell you she's not   
going to make it Saturday night. Would you believe   
she's got a date?   
  
Vampires and demons I can deal with. But this is   
really scary. I've told her if she isn't home by 10   
p.m. her boyfriend is going to meet Mr. Pointy.  
  
Am I being the mom from hell? I know she needs some   
space to develop her independence, but this is the   
Hellmouth. I'm going to be a nervous wreck until she   
gets home.  
  
Yours truly,  
B.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
What do you know about this boy? Have you met his   
parents? Where are they going? Do you think it's   
wise to let her go out without a chaperone? This is   
the Hellmouth, you know.  
  
If he doesn't have her home by half ten, you won't   
have to go after him. I'll bring you the pieces.  
  
Sincerely,  
S.  
  
---------  
  
To be continued. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Dear Slayer 2/4  
Author: Elsa Frohman, elsa@frohman.net  
Feedback: Yes, thank you  
Spoilers: End of S6 and beginning of S7 AU (Since my   
outcome of the African trials doesn't match ME's)  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: This fan fic should not be read while   
operating heavy machinery  
Summary: There was a time when correspondence was an   
art.  
  
  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Look, we've got to chill. I'm nervous. You're nervous. But   
we're grownups, right?   
  
The whole boy-girl thing isn't exactly new for us.   
  
I remember my first date. Do you remember yours? (Did   
you even have a "first date?")   
  
Anyway, what I'm getting at: If you're thinking of trailing   
them to keep an eye on Dawn -- don't even go there!  
  
My dad did that to me, and I was so mad at him I didn't talk   
to him for a month. (That was back when he still gave a   
flying fig.)   
  
I have all sorts of worries. She's starting a little late (She's   
16! When did that happen?), and this boy has his own car.   
He has a part-time job after school. (Doomedmeat Palace --   
poor dear. But I didn't meet him there. He started after I   
quit.)  
  
But I'm resolved to give Dawn her space. She's got to make   
this step, and make it without anyone looking over her   
shoulder. She'll never learn to handle herself if we hang   
over her every moment.   
  
So, not that I don't trust you, but I think I'd like to be able to   
keep an eye on you Saturday night.   
  
Kevin is picking Dawn up at seven. Why don't you come   
over a little before that? You can get a look at him, and then   
we can watch TV while we bite our nails to the quick.   
Casablanca is showing on AMC Saturday night.  
  
Let me know,  
B.  
  
----------------  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
All right. You win. You're probably right.  
  
First date? That's a hard one. When I was that age, we did   
things differently. And after I turned, "dating" isn't exactly   
the term you'd apply. First date? I think it had something to   
do with staking out a warehouse where some vamps were   
nesting. Didn't end well, as I remember. (Forgive my irony.)  
  
But rather than coming over to watch TV, I have a better   
idea. Meet me in the sewers (never let it be said I don't   
know how to show a woman a good time). I'll wait for you at   
the connection between the main storm drain and the   
Empire Street interceptor. And just so you don't have any   
doubts that I have a romantic evening planned -- bring your   
axe.  
  
Awaiting your reply,  
S.  
  
PS: Thanks for the tea.  
  
--------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Afraid to be alone with me and the TV? If there's something   
in the sewers that needs killing, can it wait until Saturday?  
  
Sincerely,  
B.  
  
PS: What tea?  
  
------------  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
Afraid? Never.   
  
As for the sewers: It's a nest of juvenile Shelat demons.   
They're sensitive to lunar cycles. Right now, they're too   
young to go out of their lair and cause any trouble, though   
they would get pretty active if we disturbed them. By   
Saturday, they'll be semi-dormant as they prepare to shed   
their skins and emerge in their adult form. Best time to deal   
with them.  
  
As for the tea, I got a package a few days ago. Straight   
from Fortnum & Mason. No sender. I assumed it was you.   
Dawn perhaps?  
  
Regards,  
S.  
  
------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
No time for the post office. I'm going to slip this under your   
door this morning. No mail deliveries on Sunday anyway.  
  
We've got to get our story straight. I've told Dawn nothing   
was going on when she got home. But I don't think she   
believes me. I'm afraid, at this point, she doesn't expect me   
to tell the truth about things like this.   
  
She saw us in bathrobes having drinks in the kitchen. I told   
her I was washing your shirt and jeans to get the Shelat   
blood out. (Do you suppose Martha Stewart has any tips for   
getting demon blood out of denim?)  
  
What's killing me is she's so happy about what she's   
imagining went on. It really hurts to have to disappoint her.   
  
So I wanted to make sure you didn't try to joke it off next   
time you talk to her. I wouldn't want to get her hopes any   
higher than they are.  
  
By the way, I asked her about the tea. She knows nothing.   
And I think she's telling the truth. I don't think she knows   
what Fortnum & Mason is. I don't think I know. What's   
Fortnum & Mason?  
  
Regards,  
B.  
  
PS: Why don't you get a phone?  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Right. No jokes. I'll try to let her down easy.  
  
Fortnum & Mason is a London pantry shop. They do   
hampers and gift boxes. Mostly poncey stuff. If not you or   
the Little Bit, I wonder who. Not like I have a lot of admirers   
in this town.  
  
If I got a phone I'd be answering calls from telemarketers all   
day. Rather sleep.  
  
Sincerely,  
S.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I dropped by the morgue this afternoon to leave your lighter.   
You left it behind Saturday. I didn't find it until this morning.  
  
They'd never heard of "Spike." Duh -- I guess that would   
look pretty strange on an employment application. By   
description, I found out my "Spike" is their "Will Whedon." Is   
that your real surname?  
  
Curious,  
B.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
No, it is not. It's just the name Giles came up with for my   
passport and work visa.   
  
I'll tell you what I told him. He nagged me incessantly to tell   
him my real name. He wants to look me up, find my birth   
certificate, see whether there are any other records about   
my life.  
  
But I'm not going to tell you or anybody else.   
  
William died in 1880. He did not die without sin. But my sins   
are not his. He never killed anyone. He never tortured   
anyone with a railroad spike. His sins were sins of omission   
and thoughtlessness -- quite ordinary really. If I let you or   
Giles or anyone else connect me with him, I would be   
staining the reputation of someone who never earned it.   
William has relations still living. They don't deserve to have   
me appended to their genealogy.  
  
Please let poor William rest in peace.  
  
Yours truly,  
S.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Sorry. Didn't mean to pry.  
  
Just a short note today. Pretty busy getting Willow's room   
ready.   
  
She's coming home from the hospital tomorrow. She's not   
all better by a long shot, but the doctor said she's well   
enough to try to work back into a non-institutionalized   
setting.  
  
Do you think you could drop by tomorrow night? Xander is   
going to sit with her in day while I'm at work. He's taking a   
day off to help her settle in. He'll be gone by six, though. He   
has something tomorrow night with his mom. Something   
going on there (with Xander's mom, that is), but he's not   
ready to talk about it yet.  
  
Anyway, the doctor said it might help her to see familiar   
faces. You two always got along pretty well, didn't you?  
  
If you'd rather not, it's OK.  
  
Dropping this off at the morgue. You really should get a   
phone!  
  
Yours truly,  
B.  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I'll come by. Glad to hear Red is doing better. Has she got   
any of her memory back? It's going to be hard on her when   
she remembers.  
  
In a way, I'm glad I missed all that happened last spring, but   
in another way, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you when the   
worst went down. I know there was nothing I could have   
done to stop Warren, since I still had my chip and he did it   
in broad daylight. But I still can't help but think I could have   
been some help to you in subduing Willow, or protecting   
Dawn. But then, you probably wouldn't have turned to me   
anyway, after what happened.   
  
Tara may not have been a close friend -- but she always   
treated me with respect. And she was a good person. I miss   
her. She was always so calm in the face of the hurricane.   
I'm sorry I wasn't around for her funeral. I would have liked   
to say goodbye.   
  
And Red may have gone off her rails, but who am I to   
condemn her?   
  
I'm proud of you, Buffy. Forgiving her must have been   
difficult. But then, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You   
seem to have forgiven me, and that's an act of forgiveness   
beyond anything I ever expected.  
  
Got another mystery gift in today's post. Wish I knew who   
was doing this.   
  
Your obedient servant,  
S.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Forgive? I've guilty of too many things to try to judge   
anyone else.   
  
I've asked myself a thousand times whether I've forgiven   
you. I don't know if I even need to. So much of what   
happened between us seems unreal to me now. I wonder   
how I could have done the things I did. And I'm not talking   
about our little sex games. I'm talking about the way I   
treated you -- as if you had no right to expect that I would   
respect you.   
  
You may have been my enemy, once. But you were always   
a worthy foe. And once you were my friend, you never   
wavered -- even I was acting like a spoiled child and psycho   
bitch.  
  
As for what finally happened -- I know you don't want to talk   
about it. But I think I need to. Maybe this is the right time, as   
I sit here waiting for Xander to get here with Willow.   
  
I was hurt when you attacked me. More hurt than I like to   
admit to myself. Not because there was any danger that   
you would actually succeed -- I am the Slayer, after all. I   
was hurt because I never for a moment before that believed   
you would ever do anything to hurt me. I know I said I didn't   
trust you. But I wasn't being honest with you or myself. I   
trusted completely that you would never deliberately hurt   
me. It was a shock to find myself fighting you off. It was a   
shock to realize that I'd pushed you so far that you could no   
longer respect me. I know you still loved me. But the   
respect was gone. And that just made me want to give up   
and crawl into a hole somewhere.  
  
Things happened pretty fast after that. I didn't really have   
time to sit down and think. Probably a good thing. If I'd   
stopped and considered everything that had happened   
between us right then, I don't know what conclusion I would   
have come to.  
  
By the time I could stop and breathe again, what you did   
was pretty small in comparison with what came after. It was   
just my week for losing friends, I guess.  
  
So, I don't know about forgiveness. I think I may have more   
to be forgiven for than I have to forgive. I think that some of   
the things I did you were worse than anything you did to   
me. And when I look at that, I wonder if you aren't   
absolutely right that we shouldn't ever be together again. I   
didn't deserve the kind of love you were offering me --   
unconditional, eternal. It's just as well that you've come to   
your senses.   
  
But as soon as I think that, I realize how much better things   
have been since you've been back. Dawn has been so   
happy -- I didn't think I'd ever see her this happy again. And   
it's not just Dawn. I'm happy you're back. There's just   
something that seems right about it. Even if we can't be   
together. I'm glad just to have you watching my back. And   
this may sound silly, but I love getting your letters with their   
beautiful penmanship and lovely stationary. I'm saving them   
all.  
  
As for forgiving Willow, I don't know about that either. What   
she did, she did knowing it was wrong. But she doesn't   
remember that now. And you know the saying: "Home is   
where when you need to go there, they have to take you in."   
This is her home. Her parents are strangers to her -- they   
always were. And I can't send her to live with strangers.  
  
I can hear Xander pulling into the driveway. Better wrap this   
up. I haven't written this much since high school.   
  
See you tonight,  
B.  
  
PS: If all that's left between us is friendship, then I guess I'll   
be glad that I still have that.  
  
-------------  
  
To be continued... 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Dear Slayer 3/4  
Author: Elsa Frohman, elsa@frohman.net  
Feedback: Yes, thank you  
Spoilers: End of S6 and beginning of S7 AU (Since my   
outcome of the African trials doesn't match ME's)  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: This fan fic should not be read while   
operating heavy machinery  
Summary: There was a time when correspondence was   
an art.  
  
  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I don't know where to start.   
  
I'm sorry if I seemed distant tonight. I know you wanted to   
talk when I came over to see Red, and I didn't give you a   
chance.   
  
Sorry. I'm not ready to talk about this face to face. There   
are too many ways to say the wrong thing.  
  
But let me cut straight to the heart of he matter. Do I still   
love you? Yes, I do. There is no question in my heart   
about that.   
  
I went on my quest determined to break this cord that   
binds me to you. It had become more than I could bear. I   
thought that if I could get the chip out of my head, I would   
be as I was before. I thought that if the leash were off, I   
would be able to see you as just another slayer, or just   
another human woman. I wouldn't feel the need to please   
you. I wouldn't feel compelled to change myself to be   
acceptable to you.  
  
It didn't happen that way. What I got was more than I   
thought I wanted and less. I'm not sure why the demon   
made me into what I am now. I don't know precisely what   
advantage there is to having this beating heart -- other   
than no longer needing to feed on blood to survive. But   
the one thing I thought I wanted most -- to rid myself of my   
love for you, I did not get. I found that without my chip, my   
feelings for you had not changed in the slightest.   
  
The chip made me stop doing what I had been doing. It   
set my feet on a different path. It didn't make me love you,   
and losing it didn't mean I stopped wanting to be the sort   
of person you could love.  
  
But none of that matters if my longing for you means that   
we would return to the way things were. I'm not going   
there again; not for you, not for anyone or anything. I find I   
can live with wanting you and not having you. It's not   
paradise, but these days, as we seem to be becoming   
friends, there is enough satisfaction in that for me to   
survive on. Another round of what happened between us   
before and I am certain I will be destroyed.  
  
So let me ask you the question that means the most to   
me. What has changed? Why would it be different now   
than it was then?  
  
Awaiting your reply,  
S.  
  
PS: I really was glad to see Willow improving. She's got a   
way to go, yet, but it does look like there is hope.  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
What's different? Everything, as far as I can see. You've   
changed. I've changed.   
  
Is that what you're asking? I would have thought you could   
have seen the change in me. I'm not wallowing in my   
misery any more. I'm taking responsibility for what I do   
and what I've done. You once told me I should get off the   
hero trip and just live. I think I'm doing that now.  
  
Is that what you wanted to know?  
  
Sincerely,  
B.  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Did you give Harris my address? I got a letter from him in   
today's post. Nothing threatening -- on the surface. He just   
says he wants to talk to me. Any idea what this is about?  
  
To respond to your last letter. No, that's not what I was   
asking. I can see that you've overcome the state you were   
in. And I am very happy to see that you're happier now,   
and more than that, that you're living again.   
  
But that has little or nothing to do with me. You quite   
clearly found yourself during my absence. I wish I could   
have helped you do that. But the important thing is that   
you did.   
  
I'm asking what has changed between us. You once said   
you would never lower yourself to be with me. You said I   
was beneath you. Does a beating heart change that? If   
so, why?  
  
What has changed?  
  
Your humble servant,  
S.  
  
PS: Almost forgot. Two bodies moved through the morgue   
last night that I think we're going to be seeing again.   
Sawyer, Allen, Sunny Rest Cemetery; Boyd, Susan, Holy   
Angels Cemetery. I'll get Sunny Rest, you get Holy   
Angels.   
  
------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Are you asking whether I see you differently? Of course I   
do. It's obvious that you're not evil any more.  
  
As for Xander, no, I didn't give him your address. I asked   
him, and he admitted he took it off an envelope he found   
here, though. I don't know what he wants. He didn't want   
to talk about it with me. But I don't think he means any   
harm. I suppose I could be wrong, but unless he's got a   
crossbow, you can handle him pretty easy. So, I don't   
think you need worry.  
  
Love,  
B.  
  
PS: Dusted mine at Holy Angels. Did you get yours?  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Obvious? I'm sorry. I don't see why it's obvious that I'm no   
longer evil. Beyond not trying to sleep with you, I don't see   
how my behavior now is significantly different from before   
I went to Africa. Does a job and a flat make that much   
difference?   
  
I'm meeting Harris tonight at the bar in the Bronze. I have   
to admit I'm curious.   
  
Yours truly,  
S.  
  
PS: Have I ever failed? Sunny Rest is once more vamp   
free.  
  
PPS: Another mystery gift today. Now they're not coming   
by post. This one was left outside my door. It was a piece   
of gold jewelry. I can't think of who would be doing this.  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
How did it go with Xander? Still not sure what he had on   
his mind. I'm hoping he wanted to make up. He's been   
really quiet with the anti-demon talk since Dawn's   
birthday. I've been hoping he's rethought his prejudices.   
  
Not much time to write this morning. I need to stop by the   
temp agency before work. I think I'm going to need to hire   
someone to sit with Willow while I'm working and Dawn is   
at school. When I got home yesterday, she was in the   
kitchen trying to bake cookies. Unfortunately, she tends to   
forget what she's doing in the middle of things, and it took   
quite a while to clean the charred mess off the cookie   
sheets. And she got very upset and ended up all weepy   
when I told her not to try to use the oven. She doesn't   
know why she wants to bake cookies -- just that she   
thinks she needs to do it. I worry about her being here by   
herself.  
  
Until I can find someone (hope it doesn't cost an arm and   
a leg) Jonathan is going to stay with her. But he really   
needs to be out looking for a job, so I don't want to rely on   
him for too long.  
  
About your secret admirer: Could it be someone from the   
morgue? Could one of the women there have a crush?  
  
As for your last note: I'm sorry. I'm confused. I get the   
impression you are offended that I don't think you're evil   
anymore. I really thought you'd given up on the Big Bad   
thing. If I've offended you, I'm sorry. But I don't   
understand.   
  
Puzzled,  
B.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
Offended isn't the word I would choose. I'm disappointed. I   
thought you'd finally figured it out. I guess not.  
  
If Jonathan has any interviews he needs to go to, I'd be   
willing to take a shift looking after Red. Have him call the   
morgue and leave a message if he wants me to come   
relieve him.  
  
Yours truly,  
S.  
  
PS: You were right. Harris wanted to make up. I put up   
with him as long as I could stand it. He bent my ear for   
three bloody hours. Not sure what he was on about,   
though. Sort of tuned him out after a bit. Would you mind   
terribly if I did something to make him hate me again? I'd   
rather have holes drilled in my skull than spend another   
night listening to him blubber into his beer. At least he was   
buying.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
If there is something specific you want me to say or do,   
why not give me a clue? I'm trying, I really am, but I'm not   
sure what you're looking for.  
  
Jonathan says thanks. He's got an interview Thursday.   
He'd be grateful if you came by.   
  
I checked out getting a helper -- but I just can't afford it.   
I'm doing better now than the DoomedMeat Palace, but   
not that well. If I hired an LPN to sit with Willow, I'd be   
paying her more than half what I earn, and then I'd be   
missing mortgage payments again. Can't afford to go   
there.  
  
Don't know what I'm going to do if Jonathan gets a job.  
  
Penuriously yours,  
B.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I know you're trying. But I can't help but feel you still don't   
get it.   
  
I made a conscious decision to turn away from evil, to be   
good -- for you -- some two years ago. But for some   
reason, nothing I did before I came back from Africa   
seems to count.  
  
I don't see why what I do now is good enough for you, but   
it wasn't then.  
  
Regards,  
S.  
  
---------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
But it is different now. You're steady -- more so than I   
would ever have believed possible. I'm not afraid any   
more that I'll find a clutch of demon eggs in your bedroom.   
  
By the way, are the gifts still coming?   
  
Yours truly,  
B.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
The bloody demon eggs again! I'm going to be carrying   
that around for the rest of my life, am I?  
  
I admit I've made mistakes. After more than a century as a   
vampire, I didn't really know how to go about being good   
when I made my choice. And once or twice, I got   
frustrated and slipped off the straight and narrow. But you   
don't even know about that incident. You just keep zeroing   
in on the eggs.   
  
The frigging eggs were a mistake, but not the way you   
think.   
  
You might have looked a little harder, love. You might   
have been surprised.  
  
Sincerely,  
S.  
  
PS: Yes, still getting the gifts. Do you know something?  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
What am I supposed to think about the eggs? They could   
have been used to kill hundreds of people. Did you ever   
give that a moment's thought? Are you going to tell me   
that you were only doing it for me? You have some   
excuse for dealing weapons of mass destruction?   
Something that makes it OK?  
  
As for the gifts, unfortunately, we think we know where   
they're coming from. I mentioned it to Jonathan, and from   
the look in his face, I knew right then that he knew   
something. Took a bit of prying to get it out of him though   
-- after everything he still feels some loyalty to Andrew.   
They were friends for a long time. Feels sorry for him,   
mostly.  
  
Yes, we're pretty sure it's Andrew. After Jonathan came   
clean, we went over to Andrew's (he's staying with his   
aunt). He didn't want to let us into his room, but Jonathan   
insisted (he can be quite forceful when he puts his mind to   
it). It was creepy. There were pictures of you plastered all   
over the walls. He's been keeping tabs on you. Taking   
pictures with a telephoto lens, keeping a diary of where   
you go and what you do.   
  
We put the fear into him -- explained to him about chips   
that aren't there anymore. Suggested that continuing   
might not be good for his health. But I'm not sure he gets   
it.  
  
Jonathan is going to come over and sweep your place for   
surveillance devices.  
  
Sorry, I'm sure this isn't the best news you've had this   
week.  
  
B.  
  
--------  
  
Dear Slayer;  
  
When it would have made a difference, you wouldn't let   
me explain about the eggs. Now, it's not going to change   
anything.  
  
But let me give you a clue. I've enclosed here a photocopy   
of the page from the Encyclopaedia of Uncommon   
Demons and Dangerous Creatures that deals with Suvolte   
and their reproductive cycle. Your inflatable soldier boy   
wouldn't know a Suvolte egg if it dropped out of his arse.   
  
It ought to raise some new questions for you.  
  
Andrew -- excuse me if I say "ewww" here. Unfortunately,   
my current status on the "evil/not evil" continuum robs me   
of the option of tearing his head off and drinking from his   
brain stem. Have to think of a more socially acceptable   
way to discourage him.  
  
I bet you're laughing up your sleeve now. I suppose what   
goes around, comes around. Any tips?   
  
Tell Jonathan thanks for the electronic sweep.  
  
Sincerely,  
S.  
  
---------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I don't know what to say. I wish you'd made me listen.   
Does this mean the real eggs made their way into the   
hands of foreign powers? Were there any real Suvolte   
eggs? What did Riley and I destroy in your crypt?  
  
I don't understand. Maybe it doesn't matter now -- I guess   
it really doesn't. But I still want to know what really   
happened. Was Riley lying?  
  
As for Andrew, I'm afraid I don't know what to tell you. My   
own strategy for dealing with a stalker proved ineffective.   
You stopped when you stopped yourself. I don't know how   
we get Andrew to want to stop himself.  
  
Embarrassed,  
B.  
  
----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Making you listen is the one task that has consistently   
proved beyond my capabilities.   
  
To answer your questions. 1. Were there any real Suvolte   
eggs? Yes. 2. Did they make their way into the hands of   
foreign powers? No. 3. What did you destroy in my crypt?   
I think they were Domashna Klalec -- not certain -- I didn't   
get that good a look at them before you and Sergeant   
Stupid went all explosive. If that's what they were, it's just   
as well that you blew up the place. Nasty buggers -- not   
really lethal, but they do leave a really itchy welt when   
they bite. Harder than hell to get rid of them once they've   
infested a place. 4. Was Riley lying? Don't know, you'd   
have to ask him that. I think he was played, though -- just   
like you, just like me.  
  
What happened? That takes a little explaining. Egg laying   
demons take protecting their clutches very seriously.   
There are nasties out there that think demon eggs are a   
tasty treat. But for the demon who laid them those aren't   
future omlettes -- they're children.   
  
For an egg-laying female, there is a often period of   
vulnerability when she needs to feed after laying, when   
the eggs are in grave danger if she doesn't have a mate to   
protect them. There are a number of species of egg-layers   
that aren't monogamous, that generally use fostering to   
ensure the survival of the offspring during that vulnerable   
period.  
  
I've fostered a lot of egg clutches. It was a way to pick up   
some money. The way it works is this: The fosterer has a   
secure location. He leaves the female there (they   
generally like a bit of privacy) and she drops the eggs.   
Then she leaves, and he stays with them for a day or two   
while she feeds and regains her strength.  
  
I usually deal directly with the female, but in this case, a   
fellow approached me at Willy's and asked if I was   
available for a rush job. He said the female was ready to   
drop within the hour, and she didn't have a fosterer. So I   
agreed to take her on short notice -- for a little extra   
money.  
  
I was waiting for her to finish laying when you came in. (I   
think the timing here is significant.) I knew there were   
eggs below, but I hadn't seen the female who dropped   
them, and I didn't know what kind they were. Then, just a   
couple hours later, Captain Cretin shows up with his   
accusations and lo and behold, there are eggs in my   
crypt. I think that's just a little too much coincidence to   
swallow.  
  
Pretty sure this "Doctor" bloke is the one who talked me   
into fostering a clutch of eggs without seeing the female.   
He creates a diversion (he must have known how little   
Major Moron knew about Suvolte) and gets rid of the   
posse on his tail (Lieutenant Lackbrain helicopters out of   
town thinking he's saved the day) and goes ahead with his   
scheme.  
  
Anyone with more than half a dozen brain cells looking for   
a clutch of Suvolte eggs would be looking for place with   
refrigeration. So, after you left, I started checking butcher   
shops and restaurants. (Unlike Colonel Crackhead, I know   
what a Suvolte egg looks like.) I found them in the freezer   
at Willy's. He swears he didn't know what they were, but   
you never know with Willy -- maybe he did, maybe he   
didn't.  
  
I destroyed them.   
  
Never found the Doctor. I think he left town in a hurry once   
he figured out I was on to him. Wouldn't be surprised if   
Willy tipped him off.  
  
If in the preceding paragraphs I seem a bit hacked off --   
yeah. I am. I think I'd rather not see you for a couple of   
days. I'll get over it. But this isn't a good time to try to talk   
to me.  
  
Your servant,  
S.  
  
------------  
  
To be continued... 


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Dear Slayer 4/4  
Author: Elsa Frohman, elsa@frohman.net  
Feedback: Yes, thank you  
Spoilers: End of S6 and beginning of S7 AU (Since my   
outcome of the African trials doesn't match ME's)  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: This fan fic should not be read while   
operating heavy machinery  
Summary: There was a time when correspondence was   
an art.  
  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I guess nothing I could say would really help right now.   
Not to try to weasel out, though, you didn't try very hard to   
explain before. But I guess I get that too. Tired of having   
to justify yourself.   
  
For what it's worth, I know I was unfair to you. But we've   
been through all that already, haven't we?  
  
The box with this note is a small token on my part (don't   
worry, it's not from Andrew). Just call them the Chocolate   
Chunk Macadamia Nut Cookies of Infinite Regret.   
  
I let Willow help with the baking.   
  
Let me take another whack at the big test question:   
  
What's different? Less than I thought, more than you   
know.  
  
The big difference in you is that this time, even though it   
hurt remembering, you took the trouble to make me see   
the truth. Before, you sulked off and licked your wounds.   
This time, you understood that I'm not perfect and   
sometimes I need to have things spelled out. Before, you   
assumed that sooner or later I'd come around.  
  
So, I think what's different about you isn't the beating   
heart or steady job. It's that you're seeing me and my   
faults more clearly.   
  
That you can still care enough to have anything to do with   
me is a testament to your character. But steadfast loyalty   
has always been a part of what you are. That isn't new.   
  
For my part, I know you're a person, not a thing, now. And   
it's not because you have a heartbeat. This change is on   
my side, not yours.  
  
After they brought me back, I never treated you as if you   
were real. That wasn't because of you, it was because   
nothing was real to me -- nothing and nobody.  
  
I died and was dragged back to Sunnydale kicking and   
screaming -- I was doing my best to resist. I think you died   
last summer (I've talked to Giles a bit. He didn't tell me   
much, but it was enough) -- but you came back of your   
own free will.   
  
I am the chosen one -- I didn't have a choice in that. But   
you've done the choosing of your destiny. Maybe the chip   
gave you a push in the direction you're going now, but   
ultimately, you are what you are because you made a   
decision.  
  
I envy you that.  
  
So, did I pass the makeup exam?   
  
Chastened,  
B.  
  
------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
A death-blow is a life-blow to some  
Who, till they died, did not alive become;  
Who, had they lived, had died, but when  
They died, vitality begun.  
  
Yours,  
S.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Did you write that? You've started writing poems again?  
  
That's really neat!  
  
Impressed,  
B.  
  
-----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
What on earth do they teach in these American schools?  
  
No, I didn't write that. It was Emily Dickinson.   
  
I went and had a talk with Andrew today. I really don't   
think it did a bit of good. It was a very surreal experience,   
though. Several times, I found your words coming out of   
my mouth.   
  
I think I understand something now that completely   
escaped me before. My persistence where you were   
concerned was not a good thing. I believed that you   
loved me and were denying it. But that was because   
that's what I wanted. I wasn't paying any attention to what   
you wanted. Even if you were denying your true feelings,   
you had a right to say no -- for whatever reason was   
important to you. My refusal to take no for an answer   
denied you the right to control your own life.  
  
Live and learn.  
  
Regards,  
S.  
  
PS: Brilliant cookies. Shared them at work. Everybody   
wants your recipe.  
  
--------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I had another talk with Andrew today. I think I may have   
got through to him in some small way. The first time,   
Jonathan and I were all doom -- better watch out, Spike   
could tear your head off stuff.  
  
Now you've given him the "sorry but I'm not interested"   
routine.  
  
So this time, I sat down with him and explained how it felt   
when you wouldn't leave me alone. I asked him if he   
wanted to make someone he cared about feel that way.  
  
It probably won't do the trick. He's pretty much out of   
synch with reality. But I thought it was worth a try.   
  
I feel sort of sorry for him. He's really lost now. He was   
never very good at being evil, and he hasn't a clue about   
how to be good. Jonathan seems to have a lot more   
sense of who he is than Andrew ever had. Andrew really   
needs someone to show him the way. (I'm not suggesting   
it should be you. He'll never give up if you give him the   
slightest opening.)  
  
Anyway, I suggested he try volunteering at the Gay and   
Lesbian Coalition. He could meet like-oriented people,   
get some sense of where he fits in the scheme of things.  
  
By the way, having spent my lunch hour explaining to   
Andrew what it feels like to be stalked, I just thought I'd   
mention that I don't feel that way anymore.  
  
Sincerely,  
B.  
  
------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I would hope not.  
  
I'm beginning to believe that we've covered nearly all the   
ground where apologies are concerned. Except for the   
last one. The one that I still can't find the words to frame.   
There aren't any words that could possibly express my   
remorse for my attack on you.   
  
It still stands between us. I wish it were different. I can't   
look at you without remembering what I did. I have more   
than a century of mayhem to atone for, but that one act is   
the one that weighs upon me more than any other.   
  
I don't know how to lift that weight. And I don't see how   
you and I can go forward otherwise.  
  
Yours in remorse,  
S.  
  
-------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
We haven't covered all the apologies yet -- not by a long   
shot. I haven't told you how sorry I am for the beating I   
gave you outside the police station. That sounds so   
shallow and inconsequential. I don't even have a good   
way to describe what I did to you. "Beating" isn't a strong   
enough term.  
  
I know you never held that against me. But I've held it   
against myself. So much so that even now it's difficult for   
me to acknowledge that I did it and that I owe you more   
than an apology.  
  
But it strikes me that we have something in common   
here. We've both done something that we regret so   
deeply that forgiveness seems beyond possibility.  
  
This next bit is really hard for me to write, so forgive me if   
it's disjointed.   
  
When I beat you, I totally lost control. I have this   
tremendous physical strength, and with it comes the   
responsibility to use it without anger. I must always use it   
to protect the innocent and the helpless. I must never use   
it for personal gain or to vent my frustration. Yet, that   
night, I used my slayer strength to pummel someone who   
cared about me to the ground. It was worse than that   
even, I beat you senseless and probably close to death.   
When I remember myself doing that -- losing all sense of   
right and wrong, of how much is enough, who I am and   
what I'm supposed to be -- I feel a shame that goes   
deeper than I can bear. I betrayed everything it is to be a   
slayer. Worse than that, I betrayed my own humanity.  
  
Remembering that night makes me wonder whether I'm   
worthy of this power. If I could do that to you, who in the   
world is safe from me?  
  
Is that anything like what you feel when you remember   
attacking me in my bathroom?  
  
Let me put a different spin on that awful moment.   
  
I woke up that day in the bathroom. I'd been sleepwalking   
for so long. But that day I saw you -- really saw you and   
what was happening to you -- for the first time since I   
came back from the grave. I saw how I had hurt you, and   
how little there was left of what you had been. Seeing   
that forced me to stop and take stock of how little I'd been   
seeing, how much I had closed my eyes to. And I had to   
accept responsibility for my part in our little mess. It's not   
my fault that you attacked me. But it is my fault that so   
much of your self-worth was destroyed that you were no   
longer in control of yourself.   
  
That was the moment that changed things for me.   
Everything went straight to hell right after that, so I was   
pretty distracted and didn't get everything sorted out right   
then. But I hate to think what the outcome would have   
been if I'd gone into that last battle in my previous state of   
numb detachment.  
  
So, in an odd way, I think you may have saved me.   
Funny how these things work out.  
  
I don't think there is anything that positive that could be   
said about my attack on you.  
  
Sharing your remorse;  
B.  
  
PS: Will you join us on Thanksgiving? I know Dawn   
would love you have you here, and I would too. Xander   
will be here, but I get the sense that he's made his peace   
and won't be a problem. I know what was up now -- his   
mother has filed for divorce. And she's moved in with   
someone she met at the wedding that wasn't. Krelvin --   
who would have thought? She was hanging on, she   
actually told Xander she wouldn't do it unless he gave his   
blessing -- poor woman didn't want to lose her husband   
and son in a single stroke. Xander had to do a lot of   
thinking before he came to the conclusion that   
sometimes just being human isn't the only thing that   
matters.   
  
PPS: Willow has invented a new kind of cookie! Maple   
Pumpkin Walnut. They're absolutely sinful. She's getting   
better. I can leave her alone in the kitchen now without   
anything ending up all flamey and charred. And she's   
throwing herself into the "developmental side" of baking   
with the single-minded determination she used to reserve   
for computer hacking. The one drawback to living with   
someone who feels compelled to bake the cookies of   
remorse: I think I'm gaining weight.   
  
-----------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
I would be delighted to join you on Thanksgiving -- if you   
promise not to tie me to a chair and let Indians -- sorry,   
Native Americans -- shoot arrows through me.   
  
As for Xander, that's what he had on his mind when we   
talked (We? No, he talked -- and talked.) He wanted to   
know whether I thought there was any possibility of a   
demon and a human finding love together.  
  
When he let me get a word in edgewise, I asked how   
many human-human relationships he'd seen work out. I   
said it seemed to me that the relationships that work are   
the ones where both people are committed to making it   
work -- the ones where when things go wrong you ask   
yourself why and try to make changes. Human-human,   
demon-demon, human-demon, hardly makes a   
difference. The only thing that really matters is whether   
both people are willing to make changes to make it work.  
  
Love;  
S.  
  
PS: Even if you do arrange for Indians, it won't seem the   
same without Anya and Giles. Do you suppose Xander   
could pretend to have syphilis for the afternoon?  
  
PPS: I'm thinking about your last letter. More later.  
  
------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Quiet night here at the morgue. So I'll try to address your   
last letter.   
  
It helps a little to know that you don't hold my failure   
against me. But not that much. I still have to accept that I   
lost control of myself. I am resolved that it will never   
happen again. But I was resolved that it would never   
happen in the first place.  
  
But I do see what you mean about having something in   
common.  
  
That I forgave you for the beating goes without saying.   
And apparently, you have forgiven me.  
  
But that's the easy part. What I can't forgive is myself.   
How do I do that?   
  
I'm at a loss to know where we go from here.  
  
Your obedient servant,  
S.  
  
------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
I know what you mean. Forgiving you is easy. Forgiving   
myself is hard.  
  
I've been thinking about it a lot. (Can you see the cartoon   
smoke coming from my ears?)  
  
All I can suggest is this: I love you. I know that you love   
me. Can you forgive yourself for my sake? If you can do   
that, then surely I can forgive myself for yours.  
  
And in case you were struck with hysterical blindness in   
the previous paragraph, I'll say it again: I love you. I   
cannot imagine my life without you in it.   
  
You're not convenient. You never were. There is nothing   
reasonable about the Slayer loving a vampire -- even an   
not-quite-vampire-anymore whatever you are now. It's   
damn inconvenient.   
  
Slayers never get happy endings. Every slayer comes   
with a sell-by date. Each slayer is on a journey that ends   
with a defeat -- alone, vanquished, in the dark.   
  
But if we can tear down the last of this wall we've built   
between us, then you will be my happy ending. Can I be   
yours?  
  
Love,  
B.  
  
------------   
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
Love is too young to know what conscience is;   
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?   
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,   
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:   
For, thou betraying me, I do betray   
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;   
My soul doth tell my body that he may   
Triumph in love; flesh stays no further reason,   
But rising at thy name doth point out thee   
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,  
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,   
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.   
No want of conscience hold it that I call   
Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall.  
  
Yours eternally,  
S.  
  
PS: Before you ask, no I didn't write that. It's   
Shakespeare.  
  
------------  
  
Dear Spike;  
  
Can I take that as a yes? (Sorry, don't speak Bard.)  
  
Love,  
B.  
  
------------  
  
Dear Buffy;  
  
You're an ignorant bint. But I love you with all my heart   
and soul. You thought I would say no? I who lived for   
you, died for you and lived again?   
  
So, I suppose we shall abandon these thoughts in ink   
and paper now. Time to move into the realm of flesh and   
blood.  
  
But one final thought:  
  
There once was a vamp loved a slayer,  
She peeled him layer by layer,  
The heart she decried,  
Was all that survived,  
But love heals all with its favour.  
  
And I did write that one.  
  
Forever;  
S.  
  
-----------  
  
The End  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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